Incentive
by hiding duh
Summary: Peter/Susan. Ah, youth.


**Title**: Incentive

**Author's** **Note**: Completely movie-verse! No Caspian! No angst! No lipstick! Just denial!

**For**: Rach. Damn you. ♥

* * *

Edmund had never been a morning person.

He had never been particularly patient. Nor well-adjusted. Nor nice.

But he was, to Lucy's surprise, easily amused.

And so, shortly after noon on the seventeenth of August—if there was indeed a seventeenth of August in Narnia—Lucy found herself staring at Edmund.

There was powdered sugar on his nose. And jelly on his fingers. And a strange little... _thing_ on his lips.

If she hadn't known better, Lucy would've thought Edmund was smiling.

But that was impossible.

Because Edmund didn't smile.

And because Peter and Susan were at it again.

"When have I ever called you anything _but_ clever?" demanded Peter, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "When?"

"You've implied it," insisted Susan, punctuating every word with a vicious stab at her lunch. "I've brought up a perfectly valid point, and you act as though my parents were first cousins."

Peter lowered his fork. "Susan," he began patiently, "I haven't—"

"Because I love Narnia as much as you lot do," interrupted Susan with a slight frown, "and I don't want to ever leave, but as we seem to be the _only_ four humans within the Kingdom, there are certain... issues we're going to have to eventually deal with and... ah..." she trailed off, averting her eyes.

Clearing his throat, Peter began scribbling untidy numbers onto a ratty piece of parchment, steadfastly ignoring her presence. "I—" he mumbled, then seemed to quickly change his mind. "Surely, there are others."

Susan looked up sharply. "Where, Peter?" she asked with menace. "Should we check every wardrobe from here to the marsh?"

"I doubt they have wardrobes in marshes, Susan," replied Peter, giving her a lopsided grin.

Lucy scooted closer to Edmund, fearing the worst.

Susan obliged.

"Peter," she ground out, rising from the table and straightening her dress.

Peter looked uncomfortable.

Slowly, Susan made her way to the head of the table. "If there are only two sons of Adam, and only two daughters of Eve, and they're slightly _related_ _to_ _each_ _other_," she lectured, "how... how... how do you expect the future of mankind to continue?"

Peter seemed oddly unconcerned with the notion. "It's too early to worry about the future of mankind."

Susan sat on the nearest unoccupied chair. "Too early?" she repeated incredulously. "I realize we'll never have to sit exams or ride trains again, but I really do _not_ want to see Lucy forced to snog Mr. Tumnus for lack of a better partner!"

Edmund scowled.

Lucy, on the other hand, opened her mouth to interject.

"Are you jealous, Susan?" asked Peter curiously.

Susan paled, then flushed horribly. "I... what?"

Peter stretched in his chair, rubbing the kinks out of his neck. "It just seems odd, is all."

Lucy covered her head protectively.

Susan exploded. "You!" she shouted, bristling. "Be a little more responsible!"

Frowning, Peter almost choked, his mouth full of melting rolls. "How am I _irresponsible_? I'm sure there are others! If _we've_ found a way in, so have others! Don't be so irrational!"

"That's a logical fallacy!" hollered Susan, bunching up her fists.

Lucy gave a deep, suffering sigh, poking at Edmund's sweets. "I hate it when you two argue. You scare away the visitors. And I like visitors."

Peter rose, his chair scraping against the marble floor.

"We're not arguing," he said pleasantly, ruffling Lucy's hair.

Edmund scowled again.

"Yes, we are, Peter!" amended Susan, leaning across the table. "We're arguing! We're arguing because you insist on being a walking logical fallacy!"

Peter scrunched up his nose, tilting his head. "A what?"

"Logical fallacy!" she said. "Asserting that some event must inevitably follow from another without any argument for the inevitability of the event in question even though there is no gradation between the two and absolutely no proof to support your claim!"

Peter was appropriately frozen for a moment.

"Even though we're in Narnia," he offered eventually, "you should still try to speak English."

Frustrated, Susan leaned further, slapping her palms on the table. "I don't want to marry you!"

Peter blinked.

So did Lucy.

Edmund, however, merely grinned.

Pink and flustered, Susan exhaled. "What I meant to say," she mumbled, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve, "...a... a fallacy is generally an error in reasoning. Which differs from—from a factual error, where you're simply wrong about the... the facts..."

Horrified, Peter leaned on the table, too, staring at her. "Why would you have to marry _me_?"

Lucy looked up.

"Because," explained Susan, staring at a particularly invisible spot on the dish in front of her, "if there _aren't_ others..."

"I haven't got the slightest intention of having you as my wife," said Peter, looking perturbed. "You already yell at me plenty."

Lucy giggled, nudging Edmund in the ribs.

Edmund, in turn, stopped chewing for a moment to add, "It wouldn't be so bad."

The other three gave him startled looks.

"If we were the only four in Narnia, I mean," he continued with a shrug.

Peter seemed to contemplate this for a moment, then said, in a nonchalant, curt manner, "No, I suppose not."

"But—"

"Even if I'm stuck with _her_," he sighed dramatically, pointing at a flushing Susan.

"Stuck with me?" she raged, picking up a goblet and aiming it at Peter. "I'll show you stuck!"

Peter ducked.

"You ought to be grateful for me!" she rounded the table, staring him down. "It should be _my_ misfortune to have anything to do with _you_."

Peter paused, brows drawing together. "And why's that?"

She paused, too.

"Susan," sighed Peter, looking quite fed up.

Spurred by a sudden burst of determination, he stretched across the table with all the audacity of a new boy-king—

—hesitated for a moment—

—blushed—

—then pressed his lips to Susan's.

"Look," said Lucy, awed, "he's made her go quiet."

And indeed, Susan was quiet for quite a while.

Even after Peter had sort of run away, making a hasty beeline for the nearest exit, Susan remained speechless.

And Edmund was still nibbling on his sweets.

Which left Lucy to stare.

"Don't look at me like that," snapped Susan finally, wiping her lips with the worst kind of blush Lucy had ever seen. "Incidentally, I won that argument."

Obediently, Lucy nodded.

"What?" defended Susan. "I _did_."

"I believe you, Susan."

"Because you see," she rambled, "an argument consists of a premise and a conclusion. And a premise is a statement—whether true or false—which is offered in support of the claim being made... and... I'm just going to have this apple now and be quiet."

And, since Susan truly meant the things she said, Lucy turned her attention to Edmund.

"Where's Peter gone to?" she asked him, scooting closer.

"A very bad place," Edmund seemed to have said, then casually segued into, "Lu."

"Yes?"

"You won't be snogging Mr. Tumnus, will you?"

Lucy peeked at a still pink Susan, then replied innocently, "If that's what snogging is, I won't _ever_."

And though Edmund wasn't at all a morning person, or nice or patient, and even though there was powdered sugar on his nose, Lucy liked the odd little smile he gave her.

"Good."


End file.
